


Both Can Be True

by Catchclaw



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Bad Exes, Caretaking Thor, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Loki, Loki Wearing Thor's Clothes, Love at First Sight, M/M, Past Abuse, Protective Thor (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Loki's a client, he reminds himself. Loki's hurt. Loki has a boyfriend named Balder or Baldy or something who kicked the shit out of him last night with a little help from his douchebag friends and the last thing Loki could possibly want is his own lawyer lusting after him, someone he met for the first time today, on what's very possibly the worst day of his life. Or a close second.





	Both Can Be True

**Author's Note:**

> This began its life as a wee ficlet in my Mental Mimosa series called "[Before All That](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853950)."

They bring Thor’s new client out of lockup 30 minutes before arraignment. He’s dark eyed and on the skinny side, with stringy hair and a shirt the color of emeralds, a button down, almost blousy. His legs are wrapped in denim and his mouth’s set in a long, unhappy line. He smells terrible.

“You smell terrible,” Thor tells him when the guy sits down beside him.

That gets him a look, a narrow-beamed death glare. 

Thor holds out the little shaving kit that lives in his briefcase. “You want a minute to clean up? George’ll let you, so long as I don’t let you out of my sight. Won’t you, George?”

The court officer barely looks up from his book: it’s _Queens of Geek_ , this week. “Yeah, fine.”

The guy, Thor’s new client, keeps looking murderous until he’s standing in front of a mirror. Then he starts looking sick.

He reaches up and traces the bruises on his cheek, barely, like just that brush is too much; does the same to his shiner and the angry purple bloom on his chin. “Jesus,” he whispers.

Thor has the weirdest urge to hug him, this wasp of a man who smells like a night in the Tombs. “They told me they treated you,” he says, clutching the shaving kit tight. “Gave you ice or salve or something. Did they not?”

His client’s unswollen eye closes. “They tried. I didn’t want anything.”

“Why not?” 

A strangled sound, like a cough. “I didn’t want to seem weak.”

 _But you’re hurting_ , Thor thinks, has enough sense not to say. Clearly, his client isn’t keen on anyone’s pity. He can work with that.

He unzips the case and lays its contents on the counter: deodorant, razor, tiny bottle of shower gel, a clean washcloth. A travel toothbrush and its best friend, toothpaste.

“We only have a few minutes before George’ll get worried and send in a search party,” he says. “So here. Use whatever you want.”

His client looks at him in the mirror, seems to see him for the first time, and the man’s mouth relaxes. He doesn’t smile or anything, but the straight line of his lips bows, just a little. 

“I have another shirt here, too, if you want it. Not as nice as yours. Or as nice as it was, before last night.” 

“Before the blood, you mean?” his client rasps. “And the assorted horrors of the holding cell??

“Before all that, yeah.”

The man’s shoulders sag a little and behind his bruises, his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t look away. “Perhaps you can help me out of this one, then? I can’t quite raise my arms.”

“What?”

His client, Loki, really does smile this time. “If you think my face is something, wait until you see my chest.”

He isn’t kidding.

His ribs are tattooed with color, with the marks of another man’s fists, and the lines of his stomach are, too, mottled purple and red. He winces when Thor peels the shirt from his shoulders. It looks like it hurts him to breathe. 

“Fuck me,” Thor says, furious. “This shit is not in the police report, Loki. There is zero fucking mention of you being hurt this badly.”

“They thought that I started it,” Loki says. His eyes are closed again, like he can’t bear to look. “So nobody asked.”

Thor shepherds him away from the sink, fills the basin, drowns the washcloth. Draws him back. Swallows his own anger, because him getting pissed right now, losing his cool, is not going to help.

“Are you ok with me doing this?” he says.

Loki leans back a little again him, bony shoulders biting his chest. “Yes. On one condition.”

Thor fumbles for the bottle, dumps ginger peach all over the cloth. “What’s that?”

 That dark eye catches his in the mirror and shines. “Before you touch me,” Loki says, “the least you can do is tell me your name, counselor.”

 

****

 

He takes Loki back to his office after court because it turns out Loki has no place to go.

“I’m not sleeping on the street,” Loki says, affronted. “I have a home, thank you.”

“Yes,” Thor says, herding him out of the elevator and down the hall, “but the person who beat you up also lives there, so I don’t think that’s a viable option.”

“One of.”

Thor reaches for his keys. “One of what?”

“One of the people who pummeled me lives there. There isn’t room for the whole gang.” 

A shove, a turn, and the door opens into the empty, quiet suite. “Hardly a good reason for you to go back there.” He hits the lights and sets his briefcase on his paralegal’s desk. “I’ll send Volstagg over later for your stuff if you like. You’ll just need to make me a list.” 

Loki squints at him in the fluorescent light. Its flickers make his marks even starker. “Vols who?” 

“My body man. My big guy. Every decent defense attorney needs one. And Vol’s mine.”

“Huh,” Loki says. “A list? Maybe later.”

The place feels odd when it’s empty. No Jane yelling from her office, no Darcy by the door neck deep in Lexus Nexus with her earbuds stuffed in. Just Thor and this strange, stringy guy who’s circling the room uncertain, like a horse poking around a new paddock. The blue oxford Thor loaned him swims on him a little, even with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and Loki’s eyes are tired now, all the vinegar sapped out by exhaustion, by the dog and pony proper of court.

Thor says: “This won’t take long. I should check my messages, respond to a few emails. Then we can go." 

Loki looks at him, eyebrows both alight. “On a Saturday?" 

“On a Saturday — what?” 

“You have to work? There’s nobody else here.”

“Everyone else isn’t the boss. And anyway, if I didn’t work on Saturdays, you’d still be in jail.”

“Fair point.”

Thor reaches up and loosens his tie, waves his hand at the conference room. “There’s a fridge in there with water and things. Probably something to eat, too, if you’re hungry. Or there’s food in Darcy’s bottom drawer here, if you prefer your snacks high fat and salty.”

Loki’s face says oh yeah, he does. “Who’s Darcy?” 

“My paralegal,” Thor says. “Eat something, ok? I promise I won’t be too long.”

He sits in his office without bothering to hit the lights and works through his emails quickly; kicks out a few documents, scans through a few more. It isn’t until he’s nearly done that it hits him that bringing Loki with him here was...weird. Sure, the guy can’t go home, but they’ve had pro bono clients before in situations like this and that’s what Best Westerns are for: so he can give people like Loki safe harbor for a few nights until they decide which friend to call or whose couch to crash on or which neighboring state they should move to. The rule is not, generally speaking, for him to bring clients home.

Which is exactly what he’s aiming to do.

He logs out and sits at his desk for a second, there in a mid-afternoon haze. The stringy sun of the morning has surrendered to clouds. It really feels like it’s going to rain.

 _This is weird_ , he thinks. He’s being weird about this, isn’t he? Oh fuck.

He scrubs a hand over his face and tries to talk himself down.

There’s no reason to get freaked out yet, he decides. Because Loki will probably say no.

“Yes,” Loki says fervently, an empty M&M bag in his fist, “absolutely fucking yes. Shit. That is incredibly kind.”

The back of Thor’s neck goes hot. “Not really,” he says, “I’ve got a guest room. I’ve got two.”

“Well then,” Loki says, grand. “So long as you’ve got two.” 

On the way back down to the parking garage, Loki asks: “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

“I’m not being nice,” Thor says. “I’m your lawyer. It’s my job to look after you.”

Loki snorts. “That's glib. So you go door to door with all your clients? Arraignment to sponge bath to houseguest? Is that your usual thing?” 

 _Damn it_ , Thor thinks. “I have room. You need a place to crash. End of story.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Loki's smirk. “I’ll take that as a no.”

In the car, Loki leans his head against the window and fall asleep almost immediately, his hair in his eyes, his body tucked in on itself. He looks a lot younger like that, dead to the world: a lanky kid with smeared eyeliner and a soft, snoring mouth.

Thor thinks about calling Jane. He does not call Jane because Jane will ask questions and Jane will get answers and Jane will tell him that taking Loki home is a bad idea for at least 900 reasons and Thor will go ahead and do it anyway. He’ll just skip to that part. 

The storm breaks when they’re five blocks away from his building and it slows traffic to an absolute crawl. A summer storm that everybody knew was coming and yet it still takes them all by surprise. The rain’s so hard that it roars and then comes the thunder and Loki, his new client, somehow sleeps through it all. Thor’s eyes slide over him, linger on that beautiful, bruised face, on the spread of Loki’s left hand as it lies open beside his thigh, and he holds onto the wheel that much harder, peers into the maelstrom, listens to the lightning as it crackles far above.

 _You like him_ , his heart says. 

 _You don’t know him_ , his head says.

“Both can be true,” Thor tells the windshield. “Can’t they?”

 

****

 

Loki wakes up the moment the rain stops, the moment that Thor turns the car underground. He winds his way to his parking space, threading his way through rows of late model Jags and Mercedes and does his best not to watch Loki grimace and stretch.

“Is this it?” Loki says through a yawn. “Are we here?”

Thor take a left and pulls the car in sharp, neatly. “Just about.”

He kills the ignition and the car goes really still, really quiet, the not-sound of the rain ringing in Thor’s ears. One hand stays on the wheel, the other stays on the keys. It seems important for his hands to be occupied. He’s not sure why. And then Loki says: 

“Thank you.” A hand on his wrist, a warm simple squeeze. “Thor. Thanks. For all of this.” 

Thor risks a look and god, it’s like drowning, staring at Loki. There’s something in him that calls to Thor, glows, something in his sharp cheeks and clever eyes that makes Thor never want to stop looking. His mom’s always talked about love at first sight, talked about the first time she saw his dad — across a crowded room and all that — and he’d always chalked it up to bullshit nostalgia. His mother, after all, is a hopeless romantic, still moony over a man whose been dead ten years. But now, for the first time in his life, Thor wonders if she wasn’t dead on.

He doesn’t touch Loki back but he doesn’t draw his hand away either. Says: “You’re, ah. Sure. You’re welcome.” 

“Then I hope you won’t be offended,” Loki says, “if I use all your hot water and then sleep for the next 18 hours because I am fucking beat.”

“If that’s what you want.”

Loki smiles at him, a genuine thing. No sting there, no guile. He lets go of Thor’s wrist. “It’s a start.”

Upstairs, he makes a beeline for the master bath and is half out of his pants before Thor’s done explaining how the taps work, how to control the four showerheads, where the clean towels are.

“Fuck,” Loki says, tugging at his shirt, staring bug-eyed at the stall, “I think I’m in love.”

Thor manages to escape before Loki’s naked. Just. 

He flees to the kitchen, opens the fridge and stares. Looks at all the shit he’s not hungry for. Seriously, he tells himself, it’s after two and he hasn’t eaten since seven but no, he doesn’t want cold cuts or leftover pesto or apples and cheese.

He wants Loki.

The thought settles in his head like a stone kicked into water, sinks down to his gut, to his guilt, really, really damn fast.

 _Loki’s a client_ , he reminds himself. Loki’s hurt. Loki has a boyfriend or partner named Balder or Baldy or something who kicked the shit out of him last night with a little help from his douchebag friends and the last thing Loki could possibly want is his own lawyer lusting after him, someone he met for the first time today, on what’s very possibly the worst day of his life. Or a close second. 

What the fuck. Thor knows better. 

Ok, yes, he _knows_ , but that doesn’t stop the want. It just makes him feel bad about it.

It’s been a long time since he’s been interested in anyone, much less gone head over heels, and trust his idiot heart to pick the worst possible time to kick off the dust and the rust. He knows nothing about Loki, nothing except what was in the police report: age and height (28, 5’9”) the place where he was arrested (outside the _Robin’s Nest_ ), the name of the officer who collared him (McGinty). What Loki said to that officer when she tried to put him in cuffs (a master’s level parade of profanity). That’s it. That’s all he knows about the man he’s just invited into his home. 

Except he also knows what Loki’s skin feels like. The smooth and the silk of it, the places where it’s been battered and nearly broken. He knows what Loki sounds like when he’s gently touched. He knows how Loki’s eyes flutter when he’s hurting but refuses to say, the way he sucks his breath in and swallows it, looks away. He knows what it’s like to have Loki balanced between his body and his hands, that long back warm against his chest, that ridiculous hair brushing his face, the smell of ginger peach soap in the air, heady.

Thor finds the edge of the kitchen island and grips it hard, holds, does not listen to see if the shower’s still running, no; does not think about Loki in there alone, turning carefully under the spray, his head tipped back, trembling, teetering between pleasure and the wrong kind of pain.

He feels murderous. He feels righteous. He feels like what he should do is storm out and find the bastard that did this, that egged his friends on.

“I broke his jaw,” Loki says, in the damn doorway all of a sudden. “Baldr. My ex. That’s why he aimed his stupid bros at me. He may have punched me in the face first, but I punched him back better.”

“I know that,” Thor says. “I was there when you told the judge.”

It takes him a second to figure out that what Loki’s wearing: a robe. Thor’s robe. The one he hangs behind the bathroom door every morning. Loki’s wearing Thor’s robe, black terrycloth that can almost double over him twice, and fuck, that should not be hot.

“And,” Loki says, “if you recall, the judge believed me. Otherwise even your silver tongue couldn’t have kept me from getting thrown back in the pokey.” Loki takes a step towards him, leaves a wet footprint behind. “So, pray tell, why the fuck are you so worried about me? I swear I could hear you emo-ing even over the roar of your glorious fucking shower.” 

“Who said I was worried?” 

“Come on. You haven’t let me out of your sight all day, Thor. And you keep staring at me like you expect me to shatter. All stuff that denotes worry to me.” 

“I...I’m not – ” 

Loki lays a hand on Thor’s arm, his fingers warm and pleasantly damp. “Plus, I happen to be in your home.”

Thor meets Loki’s eye, helpless. “You are.”

“And I’m wearing what I presume is your robe.” 

“It is.”

Loki’s thumb finds his wrist, strokes. “And if you don’t kiss me right now, counselor, I’ll take it off and wrap myself up in you instead. That's not a threat, it's a promise." 

There are colors in front of Thor’s eyes, in his head, and it takes all that he’s got not to grab Loki, shove him up against the counter and kiss him until he forgets that anyone ever hurt him, that anyone’s ever touched him in any way other than love. 

Instead he says: “I’m your lawyer.”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t know me.” 

“No,” Loki says, “I don’t, but I know that I like you. I know that you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met in this city. And you don’t know how much that means.” 

Thor’s palm finds the curve of Loki’s shoulder because he is weak and holds on to him, holds. “You don’t owe me anything, Loki.”

Loki makes a soft sound. “I know,” he says, “but there’s so much I want to give you anyway.”

The moment, the future, it balances on a dime. Slim and hopeful, just.

That’s why Thor pulls Loki to him so slowly, inch by warm, woolen inch. He’s afraid the moment will tip over and this day, this weird and beautiful day, will tumble to the floor as broken glass. 

But the moment doesn’t do that, tip. Except in the best possible way.

“Oh ye gods,” Loki says in the breath before their mouths meet, “you have blessed me.”

He lays Loki out in his big, soft bed and laps away the rest of the water, tries to chase the sting from his skin. Outside, there’s thunder but inside, Loki is light, every stretch of him glowing beneath Thor’s careful fingers and kiss after lingering kiss. His arms are still wrapped in Thor’s robe but the rest of him is bare, pale skin and mottled standing stark against the black, and when Thor leans between his thighs and nuzzles the soft flesh there, tugs at the heat, Loki reaches for him, the sleeves of the robe like dark wings.

Thor’s still wearing his trousers, his tie, his shoes, for fuck's sake, and some part of him wants to stop the whole thing, wants to strip, aches to feel flesh against flesh. But with Loki’s hands in his hair, petting, adoring, with Loki’s voice curled around his ears, begging to be sucked, loud and sweet, he can’t imagine letting go. He’d rather drown this way, fully clothed.

“Oh fuck,” Loki says as Thor circles his shaft, drops a kiss on the fat, blushing head. “Fuck you, you fucking tease, darling. Don’t you stop. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

And he doesn’t until Loki is straining, a stiff, shuddering mess, and then only to wrap him in latex so he can swallow that gorgeous cock whole, drink in the length of him. Hold down Loki’s hips while he writhes.

“Please,” Loki says, his nails in Thor’s crown now, his voice beaten thin. “Please, _please_ , make me come, Thor. I can’t fucking stand it. Make me, fuck. Make me, please.” 

There’s a growl in Thor’s head, a beautiful roar, and when he looks up, catches those dark fathoms looking back, he smiles. Lets his eyes say _I can do that_. 

It doesn’t take much.

A squeeze of his balls, a few strokes of his hot little clench, and Loki lets go with a wail that quiets the rain, that puts the loudest thunder to shame.

“Come on me,” he gasps when Thor raises his head, tugs off the condom and ties. “Take your dick out and come on me. Right now. I need to see you on me."

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Loki says, “fuck, yes. I need to look down at my skin and see _you_.” 

For a moment, it’s like he’s looking in the mirror at the courthouse again, seeing Loki’s bruises, his pain, for the first time, and he’d do anything, anything, to never have Loki feel that way again.

“Shhh,” he says, pitching over easy for a kiss. “Whatever you want. I promise I’ll make it better, baby.”

A whisper. “I know you will.” 

He straddles Loki’s thighs and licks at his fingers and jerks himself hard, hard and fast. Faster when Loki tells him to, when Loki tells him how good Thor’s cock will feel shoved up inside him, how hot Thor’s going to look when Loki rides him. How good his dick will feel when Loki comes around him, when he can feel every flutter, every sigh.

Then the world is white and all he can see is Loki’s face, that big, beautiful smile, those dark eyes pinned to his, tight. Then there’s the splatter of his spunk on Loki’s skin; he can see that now, too, can feel the gentle turn of his fingers as he rubs it in, blessing as many bruises as he can.

“Fuck,” Loki whispers. He reaches up and slides his hand over Thor’s. “No, don’t stop. I just want to -- fuck, that feels good.”

They lay together as the last of the storm finally passes, the heat of the afternoon having burned itself out. Thor’s trousers are still open. Loki is still tangled in terrycloth, bare. They wind their legs together and kiss and kiss and kiss. 

“Can I ask you something?” Thor says at last. 

Loki sighs against his cheek. “Uh huh.”

“Why did you call me?”

“Huh?"

“I mean,” Thor says. “I’m glad you did. Obviously.”

A purr. “Obviously.”

“But of all the names on the cheat sheet down there, why’d you pick mine?”

“Because you helped a friend of mine a few years ago,” Loki says. “Mmmm, I don’t know if you remember him? His name’s Hei. He got arrested for DWI because the breathalyzer they used on him was busted. You helped him make bail and you got the charges thrown out.”

“Oh,” Thor says, delighted. “Oh shit. You know Hei? How is he? I never could seem to keep track of that guy.”

“Eh,” Loki says, “I think he’s fine. On a spiritual quest in Minnesota right now, I think. But he never forgot what you did for him, Thor. He told me if I was ever really fucked, I should call you.” He brushes his lips over Thor’s chin. “And last night, as you saw, I was, in fact, fucked. Even so, when they gave me the list, I recognized your name right away.”

"But then why'd you pretend not to know it?"

"Sometimes a little mystery's a good thing. You looked like you needed one. Or maybe I did." Loki bites at his jaw. "He never told me you were this hot. Maybe I wanted to keep you as off balance as you made me feel."

Thor chews on that. “Ok. Another question."

A sigh. "If you insist."

"What were you really fighting about, you and Baldr?" 

"I told you," Loki says, his voice immediately petulant. "In court. Were you not listening? It was because he was harassing this woman who –"

"I know what you said. What's the actual reason?"

"You mean, why did he punch me?"

Shit. He says it so matter of fact.

Thor tugs Loki to him, tighter. "Yeah. That."

“He was drunk. Smashed off his ass before I even left the house. And after I was gone, he decided that he wanted us to get back together. Immediately. Then. Just like that. So he followed me to the club and caught me when I came out for a cig. I said no, for the love of fuck, no, but he wouldn’t take _piss off_ for an answer."

Thor’s head feels heavy. “Wait,” he says, “you’re broken up? I thought you lived together.”

Loki chuckles. “Oh, darling, we are. And we were, because neither of us was willing to break the lease. Do you know how hard it is to find decent housing when you barely make more than minimum wage? Wait. Don’t answer that, Mr. I’ve-Got-Two-Guest-Rooms.”

“Hush,” Thor says. “I’m no trust fund baby.”

“No?”

“No. And anyway, that doesn’t sound like the best reason to stay with someone. At least to me.”

“In my defense,” Loki says, “it wasn’t a bad breakup. Friendly terms, or so I thought. But I also thought we were adults who could cohabitate and adhere to the same agreed-upon boundaries. And we did, for a while. A whole whopping six months."

Thor closes his eyes. Has to, before he can ask. “Had he...had he ever hit you? Before last night, I mean.”

“Yes. A long time ago. Ages. I wasn’t afraid that he’d do it again.” Loki’s face is hot, his voice tight with embarrassment. “Can we not talk about this now, please?" 

“All right.”

“Thank you." 

It’s tense for a minute, two, and then Thor says: “Huh. I wonder what hospital he’s in.”

“I don’t care.”

“Aw, I think he’d like a visitor, don’t you? Somebody with bigger fists than he’s got. And a JD. Hey, that sounds like me.” 

“Thor.”

He sits up and makes to get out of bed. “I bet Darcy could find out where he is. No, I know she can. Hang on, I’ll just call her and – ” 

“ _Thor!_ ” Loki barks, but he’s smiling. “Excuse me. Hello. I’m the one who put him there, remember? I don’t need a protector.”

Thor grins, lets Loki tugs him in close. “Ok, ok. ‘M sorry. I’ll stand down.”

“Mmmm. But not for good, I hope.” Loki gives up a petulant hum, scratches hard at his hip. “I didn’t get to play with you at all. And it looks so pretty.” Thor’s cock jerks against Loki’s thigh, stupid and hopeful, and Loki laughs at him, snaps teeth at his ear. “See? It wants to play with me, too.”

“Sleep first,” Thor says in his courtroom voice. “Get in a solid six hours and maybe, _maybe_ you’ll get a present.”

Loki shivers, a shudder of silk. “Promises, promises,” he says.

When he’s sure Loki’s asleep, Thor slips out of bed and turns a blanket up and over Loki’s shoulders. Stands at the window and watches the sun chase the thunderheads. Finally takes off his goddamn tie.

In the window, Thor’s reflection is smiling. The kind of smile that doesn’t feel fleeting, the kind that settles in your mouth to stay. 

His heart says: _I might love_. 

His head says: _You just met_.

Thor whispers to himself, to the city: “Both can be true, can’t they?” 

Behind him, Loki hums a little, shifts. The sound of sweet contentment.

“Yeah,” Thor says to himself, softer now. “That’s what I thought.”


End file.
